


Monophobia

by rationalbookworm



Series: Lost And Found [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual reunion, F/M, Lost And Found Series, but those are the main ones - Freeform, probably others as well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:38:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rationalbookworm/pseuds/rationalbookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fear of being alone. Despite what most believed, Sherlock had never been alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a drabble of sorts but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to expand this into Sherlock finding Caitlyn again instead of writing a completely different story for that. I don't actually have anything more written besides the original drabble, but I intend on working on it again eventually. 
> 
> But it might be a while.
> 
> Just saying.

Despite what most believed, Sherlock had never been alone. When he was younger his parents had always been there for him, through all the good and bad. Mycroft was like a helicopter parent, always hovering over him even if the older man wasn't physically there. Mrs. Hudson was almost like a second mother in the way she looked after him. When John had entered his life, Sherlock had gained a near constant companion. So much so, that Mycroft felt comfortable enough to ease off a bit. Mary had been a delightful surprise, a sister he'd never known he wanted. Caitlyn...Caitlyn was always there.

Until suddenly she wasn't.

Sherlock had floundered without her. Suddenly being thrown off balance into the unknown had left him feeling less than confident, something he had never felt before. He had spiraled quickly out of control until he found himself in a place Caitlyn would have detested. She would have been disgusted, completely and utterly horrified at what he had become. Finally he looked in the mirror, really looked, and he flinched at what he saw. So he got clean. He stopped using. The drugs could only take away his pain for so long anyway. Mycroft and Mummy had never been happier. He began working on cases with the Yard, whether they liked it or not. But he was never the same.

He had always been in some ways cold and distant with people, not really knowing how to interact with them. It had been different with Caitlyn. With Caitlyn, everything was easy, like breathing. She understood without having to ask inane questions. She never saw him as a freak, just someone who saw the world differently than what was considered normal. She had always been a shield in a way, blocking the harsh world from inflicting too much pain.

When she was gone and he was left to his own devices, he realized how much he had grown to rely on her in his everyday life. He could hardly hold simple conversations without her. So instead of making mistakes and stepping on people’s toes, he stopped caring. He built up tall strong walls around his heart and only allowed a select few to peek through. Caitlyn would be the only one to ever really know him, and he was alright with that.

Still, he was terrified of being left alone. Alone meant having no distractions from the tempest that was his mind. He feared that the dark place that Caitlyn used to light up, the place that had once been filled with drugs and violence for a short period of time. He wouldn’t allow himself to go back there, but knew if he was felt alone for too long, he could slip. He _would_ slip, and know he had even more people to look at him with sadness and disappointment in their eyes. People that were so similar and yet so different to Caitlyn it hurt but kept him from tumbling down into misery. 


	2. Calling The Calvary

“We have to get her back!”

The look on Mycroft’s face when Sherlock burst into his office, frantic panic clear on the younger brother’s face, was priceless. Under normal circumstance John would probably be grinning in the background as Sherlock launched into the retelling of what had happened in America. As it was, the army doctor had his hands full trying to calm Sherlock down. The man just wasn’t listening, however, too desperate to get his search underway. Of course that would go a lot faster if the British Government could actually understand what was happening.

Even Mycroft’s considerable intelligence couldn’t keep up with the distorted sentences Sherlock was spewing. Finally the elder Holmes had to give up, turning to John for an explanation as Sherlock huffed in annoyance and paced the length of the room.

“Caitlyn,” John said simply, knowing there was no other way to say it, no way to soften the blow. Mycroft had lost a sister just as much as Sherlock lost a fiancé. Neither man would be consolable for a long time because of this. “We found Caitlyn. Or she found us, actually.”

Again, John lamented that he wasn’t witnessing this during a less serious conversation. Mycroft’s face drained of color, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped, giving him the impression of a fish on dry land.

“What?” he finally managed to breathe out.

“We have to get her back,” Sherlock repeated for the millionth time, stopping in his pacing to lean on his brother’s desk. Their eyes were both wide as they stared at one another. A random thought of whether or not they could speak telepathically popped into John’s head. It wouldn’t surprise him if the geniuses had figured out a way to do it.

Mycroft gave a firm nod, determination sinking into his features as he stood, practically shouting for A. His usual cool, detached manner had flown out the window as he marched down the hall with Sherlock and John hurrying behind him. A emerged from a door along the way, phone firmly in place as she slid in alongside her boss.

“Are we at war?” she asked seriously. John was a little serious about _how_ serious she was, actually. He really, really hoped that wasn’t an average day question for her.

“Cancel everything for the next month,” Mycroft ordered as he flew around a corner, startling some random office worker who squeaked in surprise before darting back into the office he had just exited. Mycroft continued unfazed, “And call up my private jet.”

“Of course, sir,” A agreed without missing a beat. “And where should I tell them we are going?”

“Georgia,” Sherlock drawled, back to his normal collected self, though John could still see the anxious light in his eyes. He doubted that would be going away anytime soon. “There’s someone I need to speak with.”

* * *

John felt hot and sticky the moment he stepped off the plane. The car was only a brief relief before they were once more stepping out into the humidity. He quickly looked around as Sherlock moved ahead of him to the house. They were once again in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by acres upon acres of peach trees. Sherlock had explained quickly that this was the McGuire family orchard, the place Caitlyn had lived before moving to England after her parents’ divorce. Her grandmother still owned the land and everything on it, but was too old to work it herself. For that she had her son and grandson, Caitlyn’s uncle and cousin. Both of whom lived in the house with her and greatly disliked Sherlock. That he learned from a rather amused Mycroft.

“Why are we here again?” John asked as he quickly caught up to his long legged friend. Mycroft and A had decided to wait with the jet as Sherlock assured them he wouldn’t be long. “Kate would be smart enough not to come home.”

The taller man rang the doorbell without answering, looking like he was bracing himself for something. Clomping footsteps sounded behind the door, followed by silence.

“ _Son of a bitch_ ,” John could just make out a male voice.

Sherlock sighed, “Bucky. Open the door.”

“Why should I?” the voice drawled. “What’d ya ever do for us, huh? Took Kate and got ‘er killed, that’s what!”

“Katie is not dead,” Sherlock stated with another sigh and an eye roll. The voice scoffed. “I’ve seen her.”

There was a pause, “When?”

“Four days, five hours, and forty three seconds ago.”

The lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing a short young man with cropped blonde hair and bulging muscles. His white tank top was streaked with grease and dirt and his jeans had a tear in one knee. His boots seemed to be the only cleaned and cared for thing about him. He raised one bushy eyebrow as his brown eyes darted between the two men in front of him, “Ya sure?”

Sherlock gave a brisk nod, “I spoke to her.”

“Where is she, then?”

“I intend to find out.”

The man scowled, “If ya don’t know, then how come ya here? Ain’t ya gonna do some’tin?”

Sherlock hesitate, his mouth pursing slightly as though he just ate a lemon, “I need some of your…expertise.”

Bucky’s face slowly slip into a shit-eating grin, his eyes twinkling, “Well, shit. Never thought I’d here ya say that. Come on in and close the door ‘fore you let all the air out.”


End file.
